“Hi,” she says, barely above a whisper, but firm. Her voice carries more steadiness than her posture suggests.
I can't help but smile. “Hi.”
There’s a weight to the word between us. Not just a greeting, acknowledgment. Recognition.
We drive in silence, but it’s not the awkward kind. It’s charged. The hum of the engine fills the space between us. We don’t talk, but I feel her energy shift with every mile. By the time we near the edge of the trailhead, she’s sitting straighter, her jaw relaxing just a little. She’s still nervous, but she’s also curious.
When I pull the truck off the road, the tires crunch over gravel and pine needles. The air is thick with wood smoke and something older, wild, untouched. Sacred.
We climb out at the same time. I glance at her to make sure she’s good, and she nods once, then falls into step beside me. Our shoulders almost brush as we walk down the dark footpath, lit only by lanterns strung in the trees like glowing amber orbs. Music pulses in the distance, echoing off the mountains like a heartbeat calling something forward.
By the time we reach the clearing, it'salready alive.
Dozens of people are gathered around a massive bonfire at the center of the forest glade. Flames leap toward the sky, painting everything in flickering gold and crimson. Shadows dance across familiar faces, pack members moving with easy confidence and barely leashed power. A circle of high school students, mostly juniors and seniors, lingers near the outer edges,laughing and sipping from red cups. To them, it’s just a party—a Stone Mountain tradition. But for the pack, it’s how we spot the ones who don’t know they’re one of us yet.
Maya slows beside me, her mouth slightly open as she takes it all in. Her eyes flick across the crowd, some faces she recognizes from school, others she doesn’t.
I see the way her breath hitches when someone on the far side of the circle lets out a howl that’s a little too realistic, animalistic even, before laughing it off with his friends as if it’s all part of the act.
Torches line the perimeter, flames flickering and revealing faces painted in war ash, symbols marked on shoulders, arms, and foreheads. Some students from school are already here, laughing too loudly, their eyes gleaming a little too brightly. Others stand close together in tight circles, whispering. The rest, my pack, move like a current beneath the surface. Smooth. Silent. Watching.
Cassie’s already here, dressed in a blood-red jacket and tight black jeans, her platinum hair glowing like a halo in the firelight. She leans against one of the towering pines, and when she sees Maya, her expression sharpens.
“Looks like your new pet decided to come play,” she murmurs as I pass.
“Not tonight, Cassie,” I say without looking at her.
“Oh, I think tonight is exactly the night,” she replies, her voice laced with venom. “She doesn’t belong here, Bolton. You know it.”
Maya lifts her chin and glares at Cassie, meeting her stare without flinching.
“We’ll see,” I say, keeping Maya close beside me.
Maya stiffens but doesn't say anything until we’re a few steps past Cassie.
"She doesn't like me much," she murmurs, her voice low.
"Don’t let her bother you," I reply, keeping my voice calm. "She talks big, but most of it’s just noise."
Maya takes it all in, the pounding music, the flicker of lights strung between trees, the way students cluster in fire lit circles like it’s just another high school party.
“This is... intense,” she mutters.
“This is tradition,” I reply.
She turns to look at me then, really look. “And you’re part of it?”
“I was born into it.”
“And me?” she asks quietly. “Where do I fit?”
I don’t answer because I don’t know. Not yet.
But I hope the moon does.
We step into the sacred circle as the music stops and a ripple of awareness moves through the crowd. My father, Alpha Sharpe, emerges from the shadows like a mountain walking. His eyes flick to me, then to Maya.
His gaze lingers.
